Terra Nova: Lucas Edition
by AwfullyHardWork
Summary: Lucas-centric expansion of Terra Nova. Novelization of his scenes from the show plus additional scenes for all thirteen episodes.
1. The Beginning

_**Genesis**_ **: The Beginning**

 **((September 26** **th** **, 2149))**

Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. The numbers kept growing and the graph kept rising. To many, the screen of his plex would have seemed just confusing. To him, it looked exquisite. Just exquisite.

After all, he understood what those symbols and lines meant. That was what he did for a living. Well, not in the traditional sense—nobody was paying him at the time, but it was the thought of finishing the job he had been hired to do that was keeping him alive. That thought was the reason he was willing to go through the hardships that came with surviving as a homeless man, all alone, in a jungle full of dinosaurs. He knew the risks such life bore; he had scars (and not only behind his right ear) to prove it. Plus, if the amount of times he had heard the Sixers call him 'crazy' was anything to go by, then he had a proof of the toll isolation could take on one's mind. It was difficult, going on like that, and if he had not believed his life would eventually take a turn for the better, he would have thrown in the towel a long time ago.

Life _would_ take a turn for the better, he was sure of that. In fact, he was sure it would happen soon, within a few months at the most. He would not still be stuck in the same spot the next year. The next year would be different. The next year, he would be in 2150, on that overpopulated planet Earth where no one was ever alone, where a lot of the wildlife was extinct and dinosaurs never ate humans, where his father would no longer bother him. Because his father would be dead, hahaha! Oh, he would show the man what he was made of, and once the man understood how wrong he had been to antagonize his son—to _hurt_ his son—, then his employers would help him end the man's life once and for all. He would no longer have to bear the feeling of being hated, of being blamed, of being regarded as incompetent and worthless and not deserving of the life his mother had given him. No, those feelings would leave as soon as his father was unable to have them—which would only happen as soon as his father was dead.

And he knew it would happen soon. He could feel it in his heart. And in his brain. After all, he had gotten very close to solving the equation. That was why he had almost decided not to go to the terminus that morning: while more data to check and work with was helpful, it was not necessary anymore. He would be able to finish his work with what he had collected thus far, he was convinced so.

In the end, though, the desire for making his job easier won over his immediate tiredness. Mostly because he had missed the ninth pilgrimage a year earlier. That one he had missed by accident, not because he had been tired or lazy. He had not checked the calendar often enough and discovered he had missed the date a couple of days later. And while, even then, collecting more data had not been crucial, he knew missing it had slowed him down. So, wanting to make up for that lost time, he set off in the morning. He took a canteen of water and some grubs for snacking, and he headed for the portal terminus.

He knew the pilgrimage was scheduled for the afternoon, but he also knew the Terra Novan army was guarding the place. The closer to the tenth pilgrimage's arrival it was, the more soldiers would be there. He had to find a good hiding spot before the area completely swarmed with his father's sheep.

He walked until he heard voices. Human voices. He registered their sound, but he was too far to understand what they were saying. Slow steps forward… Quiet steps… After all, he wanted to _hear_ , not _be heard_.

"If I _had_ to," a feminine voice said, "I'd kill off Kyle." He stopped in his tracks and listened. "But honestly, they're both so fun to watch, I don't want either of them to die." He had no idea what the woman was babbling about, but that did not matter. All that mattered was that it a voice, a _human_ voice, speaking the same language as he did. "I hope it turns out it was Christian." He had not spoken to the Sixers in… How long had it been, again? A month or so? Almost two months, probably. It was, of course, by choice, but when he heard the woman talk, he realized he missed it. "I mean, I know he was standing more to the side, but I don't think he was _too_ far from those two." No screeching, no croaking. Pure human speech. Oh, was that music to his ears! "He could've been hit by the bullet." …For all of ten seconds. Then it became old news and started to bore (and borderline annoy) him. "I mean, honestly, Christian's, like, the most annoying character from any show—" Aaand he tuned the voice out. He had a hideout to look for (and a little bit of sanity to preserve).

He chose a tree he had sat in during the eighth pilgrimage's arrival as well. He recognized it thanks to a tiny smiley face he had carved in its bark (tiny enough it was not likely to be noticed by anyone who was not actively looking for it). He discovered upon climbing up that the tree's crown was denser than he remembered it; it was almost impossible to see the terminus from there. Oh, well! He did not need to _see_ the scene, and at least he himself would be better hidden from sight. That, he figured, was a good thing. He made himself comfortable in the branches, and then he waited.

And waited.

Finally, after what felt like and must have been hours, he heard cars. He heard them drive closer, and then he heard them stop. The pilgrimage was impending. He put away his plex for a moment and just listened to all the new voices. Was his father one of them? He listened carefully and nearly strained his neck while trying to look at the arrivals. Washington… Guzman… Not his father. Not anymore. The last pilgrimage his father had come to receive was the fourth one; he had never showed up after that, supposedly waiting at the colony to welcome the pilgrims there.

He was not sure why his father had stopped coming. Perhaps it was because the portal terminus had been built at a secure location, making the newcomers safer. Or perhaps the old man had simply grown lazy. Either way, it bugged him. He was not sure why, but it did. A part of him wondered if he should have been taking it personally—if, somehow, his father knew he came to watch each pilgrimage arrive (apart from the ninth…) and if that was the reason his father never came anymore. Because his father wanted to stay as far away from him as possible. Because the thought of being at the same spot as him made his father sick. He figured he was just being paranoid (after all, if his father had known his location, he would not have lived to see the tenth pilgrimage), but the thought gnawed at him nevertheless.

He returned his attention to his plex once again. As soon as the portal opened, he would log into Hope Plaza through his employers and start gathering data for his work. He figured it would not take long anymore. He adjusted his position, then listened on.

 _Whoooooosh…_

The sound of the portal, while quiet, was unmistakable to his ears. To hell with human voices, _this_ was the real music! (Now, there was a sentence he would not have said before the Sixers' arrival… Much as they annoyed him, they had really spoiled him, too.) He launched the program he needed on his plex. He typed in the username. Filled in the password. Tapped on the screen a few times. Pressed 'start.' And then he leaned back against the tree's trunk and watched with a smile as a myriad of numbers appeared in a column on the left and the rest of the page was filled by a growing graph.

And it was beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.

The higher the numbers were, the louder was the noise coming from the site of the terminus. The noise was not made by the portal, however, but by the pilgrims who kept coming through it one by one. There was a plethora of shocked gasps, of voices expressing their awe and wonder, even of people complaining they could not breathe right. He knew exactly what everyone was saying—in spite of the fact he could not actually hear their respective words. He knew it because he had heard the same things every single time he had been close enough to the portal to listen to the newcomers. 'Whoa!' 'Wow!' 'Look at all the green!' 'Look how blue the sky is!' 'Holy _expletive_!' 'My chest stings!' And so forth. They were very unoriginal in that regard.

Everything was going as always. The numbers were nearly identical to his expectations. The pilgrims' chatter grew steadily. The wildlife made distant noises. The sun was shining.

Then the chatter silenced and gave way to yelling. "GUN!"

Okay, that one was new. Gun? What gun? Why was someone yelling out 'gun'? The only reason he could think of was that someone who should not have had any firearms did, in fact, have one. Had one of the nurses brought it to the portal? Had one of the pilgrims smuggled it through Hope Plaza? A terrorist? A mental case? To hell with who it was— _what were they doing with it_? That was the real question. That was the danger. Did they mean to take the gun to the colony? Or were they planning to shoot right then and there (whether it be at a person or at the terminus)? Oh, god, he hoped not! If someone were to fire a sonic so close to the fracture… He could not even think about what would happen. The very idea terrified him more than anything at that moment.

He leaned forward as much as he could, nearly strained and twisted his neck again to see what was happening—but to no avail. The branches in front of him were too dense. He caught a glimpse here and there of bodies moving, but their faces were blocked by greenery.

"NO! No!" Whoever was yelling out those words was voicing his own thoughts. Oh, god, please, don't shoot the portal. Please don't shoot the portal!

A part of him wanted to jump off the tree and run to terminus and strangle whoever it was that had brought the gun. He did not do so, as he realized he would not have been of any more help than the soldiers his father had sent there. If a small army could not stop the person, how could he? Oh, god, _please_ let the small army handle it! (Wow, that must have been the first time he rooted for the Terra Novan army since he had been banished. Before that event, he had rooted for them a couple of times—whenever there had been danger present and they had been the ones protecting him.)

Much to his relief, the yelling soon stopped. Voices no louder than normal returned, and he heard no shots being fired. No shots fired meant no portal blown apart. No portal blown apart meant no life's work destroyed. No loss of his _raison d'être_. The portal continued to whoosh happily, and the numbers on his plex grew and grew.

 _'Give me a heart attack, why don't you?'_ he thought grumpily, leaning back and letting out a sigh.

The rest of the pilgrimage went on smoothly. There was no more yelling, no more troubles as far as he could tell. He was just sitting there, watching the screen of his plex, silent.

Once the numbers' increase slowed down significantly, he realized the portal was about to be shut down. It was time to quit. He held up his plex. 'Stop' was written at the same place that had previously said 'start.' He tapped on that part of the screen, and the numbers and graph came to an immediate halt. They did not go away, but they were frozen as they were. A few more taps on the screen: 'save as,' keysmash, 'to: desktop,' 'save,' 'log out.' And then he turned the plex off and put it in his bag. Right as he was doing so, the whooshing of the portal disappeared.

He waited up in the tree, listening to the newcomers' indistinct chatter. It did not take long before the cars drove off, followed by other pilgrims, soldiers and nurses walking away on foot. The chatter became more and more distant, until, finally, he could no longer hear a word. Wildlife continued to screech and croak, but there were no sounds of human beings within his earshot. Nodding to himself, he grabbed his bag and climbed down the tree.

He went to the terminus. He made sure to look around carefully before entering the site, just to be sure; as expected, no people were present. He walked closer and stopped behind the center of the terminus. He looked at the metal ring, and a smile found its way to his lips. "Hello, friend," he said out loud, even though he was well aware of the fact the terminus could not hear him. His throat felt a bit raspy, and so he cleared it before continuing. "It's good to see you again. The last time I saw you in use was…" He glanced down at the ground, shifting his weight on his feet. It had been two years ago. Two _years_ … It was hard to believe so much time had passed.

So much time had passed, yet so little had changed. He was two years older. He had moved to another shelter. He was closer to solving the equation. Apart from that? Nothing else seemed different in his life than when the eighth pilgrimage had arrived. The jungle was the same, the dinosaurs, the Sixers, the loneliness… Everything. He was _sick_ of it. Sick! He could not wait to leave the rut he had fallen into. He could not wait to go to the future and finally move on.

But, of course, in order to do that, he had to finish his job first. "I should go," he said to the terminus. "I need to look over the data. I hope you understand. Much as I'd love to stay and have another make-believe conversation, I want to get some work done before bed."

He looked aside for a second, then returned his gaze to the terminus. "Say hi to the portal for me." After those words, Lucas walked away from the site.

The pilgrimage had ended, he had collected the data he wanted—it was time to go back to his ordinary days.

* * *

Author's note

Hello, fellow Lucas fan! (I'm assuming you are a fellow Lucas fan because why else would you be here?) Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed the first chapter of another Lucas‑centric story of mine. I've already posted two other ones to this website, _Nightmare_ and _The Second It Began_ , which both take place in the same universe as this story. So if you haven't yet and if you'd like, you can go and read those while I work on the next chapter of this one.

BTW, I included the line with Lucas mentioning he'd like to have a make-believe conversation with the terminus because, in the first draft of this story, I actually wrote a short make-believe conversation (in the sense that Lucas was talking and then pausing to pretend the terminus was responding to him). In the end, though, I decided to change that part.

Okay, I think that's all for now. See you!


	2. Ordinary Days

_**Genesis**_ **&** _ **Instinct**_ **: Ordinary Days**

 **((September 27** **th** **, 2149))**

Sleeping.

He first opened his eyes when the sky was dark, woken up by a nightmare (in which his father found his shelter and destroyed everything he had there). He stretched his legs, turned to lie on his left side and went back to sleep.

He woke up again later on, but the sky was still pitch black. He felt as if he had just had another nightmare, but, as soon as he woke, he forgot what it had been about. That was a good thing, though; remembering them did nothing except annoy him. He looked at the campfire that was burning near his bed. The flames seemed a little weak. He yawned, got up, put more pieces of wood in, and then he went back to bed. He lay down, curled up into a ball under his blanket, and he fell asleep.

When he woke up again (from a dreamless sleep for once), it was morning. The campfire was slowly burning out. The sun, on the other hand, was up and shining; the weather was quite warm, actually. He was grateful for that. He stretched himself, he rubbed his face, and he got up.

Morning routine.

He picked up a canteen, which held some leftover water from the previous night. He did not drink right out of it; instead, he poured the liquid into a wooden cup. There was really no reason for him to take that extra step, apart from the fact that it made him feel a little more civilized. He drank the water, then put the cup down.

He cleared his throat. "Good morning to me," he said out loud. "Good, good morning…" He listened to the sound of his voice and focused on the way his throat felt. After a brief evaluation, he nodded to himself. "Good enough."

He took off his jacket and put his holster on instead. Then he walked off to relieve himself; nature was calling. Once that was done, he brushed his teeth with a walnut twig.

Food.

He needed to try and find something to eat. His stomach was rumbling. He grabbed his bag and left the site of his shelter.

First, he decided to check the traps he had laid around the area. Something—an instinct, a sixth sense of some sort—was telling him that today would be the day he would find a good meal caught in one of them. A nice, tasty gallusaur, perhaps; he had seen those around. And besides, it had been a while since any animal had fallen victim to his trap; it wouldn't be fair if it didn't happen again soon, he thought.

He started with the nearest trap. Sadly, he was out of luck. Nothing was caught there. Oh, well! He had a few more to check; perhaps he would get lucky at the next one…

Nope. Big fat nothing again. He blamed his father for that. (Nobody could question his logic there, mainly because there was no logic to begin with.)

That nothing turned out to be the exact same nothing he found at the next trap. And all of the other traps in the area. His instinct must have been wrong. Actually, if he were being honest with himself, it was the third day in a row he believed a sixth sense was telling him he would find something there. The other two days had been fruitless as well. (Actually, if he were being _really_ honest with himself, it was more of a wishful thinking than a sixth sense. Same difference.)

He did end up finding a bunch of grubs, though; not as good as a gallusaur would have been, but they were much, _much_ better than nothing. He took them as well as fresh water to his shelter. Once he was back, he sat down onto a fallen tree's log. He poured some water in his cup and put the grubs in a wooden bowl. Again, he did not have to do that, but he _liked_ doing it. He liked feeling like a civilized human being, not a primitive animal like all the creatures around him. Civilized humans drank from cups and glasses. Civilized humans ate from plates and bowls. And if civilized humans did it, so would he.

He proceeded to stuff all the grubs in his mouth with his hands.

After breakfast, he pulled his plex out of his bag.

Work.

He turned the plex on. He opened the file with the data he had collected from the portal a day earlier. Then he studied the numbers on the screen.

If someone had walked in on him, chances were they would have thought he was frozen. He was just sitting there, staring at the screen, not moving at all. (Okay, he did move occasionally to scroll to another page of the file. And to adjust his position if the one he was sitting in became uncomfortable. And to drink water when he was thirsty. And once to go relieve himself. Still, he was motionless longer than not.) His mind, however, was filled to the brim with action, movement and change. His mind processed all the numbers he was staring at and made them work for him.

He did that until his hunger came back and thoughts of food became too distracting.

Lunch break.

Actually, 'toilet' break first, lunch break later; his bladder needed emptying again (he had drunk a lot of water). Unfortunately, his lunch ended up being more meager than his breakfast. It did satisfy his stomach enough to let him focus, though.

Work.

Another break a couple of hours later.

Not because he was hungry, just because he was getting tired. He needed a rest. He worried that, if he were to continue, his head would start to hurt; thinking was not easy with a headache.

He considered doing something fun to relax, but then he looked up at the sky. The sun was really shining brightly that day. The weather was unusually warm for that part of the year, but he could feel wind blowing as well (not strongly, but he felt it). It was a great day for doing laundry; he had to take advantage of that. He packed up his plex, stuffed his blanket in the bag as well, grabbed his jacket, and then he set off.

He went to a nearby waterfall. There was a rather shallow body of water at the bottom, a river going down from there and a small clearing around. At the edge of the clearing, close to the mountain the stream of water fell from, grew a number of bushes. He knew they held an edible kind of berries, but the last time he had taken a look at them, the berries had yet to ripen. He made a mental note to check them later while his clothes were drying off.

He put his bag down on the ground, and then he began doing his laundry. He started with the jacket; after washing it, he wrung it out and hung it on the branches of a nearby lonely tree. He took off his pants (those and the jacket took the longest to dry), washed them, wrung them out and hung them. Took off his shirt, washed, wrung and hung. Repeated the process with every piece of clothing until he was dressed in nothing but his birthday suit—the only thing left to clean. After washing himself (quite thoroughly, rubbing every part of his body until he was satisfied), he took his blanket and used it to dry himself up.

While waiting for his clothes to dry, he went to take a look at the berries. Most of them, he noted, were pink in color, but a few were the right shade of red they were supposed to be when ripe and ready to be eaten. Which was exactly what he did. He picked every single red berry he could find, then ate them one by one. The pink ones, he left those untouched; he would come back for them at a later date.

When there were no more ripe berries left, he went for his bag. He pulled out the plex and began to stare at his calculations once again.

Work.

He stood up sporadically to go and feel how wet his clothes were. They were drying gradually, but they were drying. In the beautiful, warm weather, he was sure it would be done before nightfall.

When the clothes felt dry enough to his touch, he put them on. Once he was dressed, he packed his plex and blanket, and he left.

Back to his shelter.

Back to work. (Actually, back to his designated water‑passing spot, _then_ back to work.)

When he realized the sun would set soon, he put on his jacket.

Late day routine.

He left his shelter to go collect more wood and water and hopefully some food for dinner. He ended up finding a couple of rather large insects he knew to be edible. He caught them, killed them and took them back to the shelter to roast them over a campfire.

After dinner, he worked on his calculations for a while. Then he started to feel tired. He relieved himself for the last time that day. He brushed his teeth. He made sure to add plenty of wood to the fire. He stretched himself. He took off his jacket and his holster. He put the jacket back on. He put the hood over his head. He lay down in his bed. He curled up under the blanket. Then he fell asleep.

Sleeping.

The day was about to end. He had spent the majority of it by taking care of his basic physiological needs and working on his calculations. More importantly, he had spent the _entirety_ of it outside and alone. And _most_ importantly, that fact barely fazed him.

Really, it had been a completely ordinary day.

(_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_)

 **((September 28** **th** **, 2149))**

He woke up three times that night: once from a dream in which his mother died in a fire, once from a dream in which his mother died by suddenly disappearing into thin air when he hugged her, once from a dream in which his father was trying to kill him or something. He wasn't even sure, he forgot most of those nightmares upon waking. He did, however, use each opportunity to make sure his campfire was still burning. Then he turned to lie on his other side and went back to sleep.

He got up in the morning, when the sun was up. The weather was a little colder than it had been the day before, but the sun was shining.

Morning routine.

He drank water, relieved himself and brushed his teeth.

He went to look for food, starting with his traps. He was not expecting anything, though. He did not want to get his hopes up again after the last three— oh, there was a gallusaur! A gallusaur! A juvenile one, and dead as a doornail. _'Yes! I_ knew _it!'_ he thought happily. His instinct was finally proven right. (Never mind that he had not actually expected it. Who had said anything about not getting his hopes up? Not him.)

With a smile as bright as the sun, he proudly carried the meat to his shelter. He wished his father had been there so he could have shoved it in the old man's disgruntled face. ( _'Thought I'd die of hunger in the jungle, did you? Guess again!'_ ) He had enough food for the whole day—and what delicious food it was, too! There was no better meat he could think of than a nice, roasted gallusaur. (Which was one of the reasons he had built his shelter close to their territory; that and the fact that gallusaurs were not dangerous. Not only were they smaller than humans, they did not even hunt humans for food; they only fought when provoked, as he had learned from experience…)

After breakfast, he started to work.

Work.

Breaks for drinking water, roasting more meat when he was hungry and answering nature's calls whenever necessary. Other than that, he worked and worked and worked until he felt like he was getting a headache. He needed to take a real break.

He decided to have a wash. He did not do his laundry again, though. Even his body he washed less thoroughly than the day before, with much less rubbing involved (he was not really in the mood for the thorough wash).

When he was clean enough, he pulled out his plex. He stared at the numbers for all of ten seconds, and then he decided he needed a longer break. He wanted to do something for fun, not out of necessity.

What could he do for fun? He thought about his options for a moment. Talking to himself? Eh. Talking to a tree? Not much better. Puppet theater with sticks? Wasn't really in the mood for that. Whittling?

Yeah, whittling sounded good. Even though he had no use for the product, the process was entertaining and relaxing. A perfect activity when he wanted to have a lazy day and rest.

It did not take long before he found a large, thick twig he was sure would serve his purpose well. He brought it with him to the shelter. He sat down on a fallen tree's log, pulled out his knife, then looked at the twig. What could he whittle from it? An image of a monkey popped into his head. It was actually the animal he whittled most often, but that did not mean he could not do it again. With a shape in mind, he firmly gripped the knife and made the first, long cut.

He whittled for a while, but he did not finish making his desired animal that day. Once he felt relaxed enough, his threatening headache nowhere in sight, he put the piece of wood away and went back to work.

He spent the rest of the day working, drinking water, eating roasted gallusaur meat and relieving himself whenever necessary. When he started to feel tired, he brushed his teeth and went to bed.

Another ordinary day had passed by. And he knew the next one would not be different.

(_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_)

 **((September 29** **th** **, 2149))**

He woke up only once in the middle of the night, from a nightmare in which he was chased by a nykoraptor. In the morning, he dreamed that his father was berating him. Harshly. Touching _all_ the raw nerves.

When he got up, he looked up at the sky. It was more cloudy that morning than it had been over the past couple of days. The wind had picked up, too. It would rain later on, he could feel it in his bones. He frowned, then went to relieve himself and brush his teeth.

Eating, drinking, then working.

Working, eating, drinking, answering nature's calls, that was the majority of his day. He had a quick wash in the afternoon like the day before. He whittled for a while when he started getting sick of spending the whole day staring at numbers. Then back to working, eating, drinking and answering nature's calls.

It hadn't started raining yet, but the clouds were getting darker.

When he was getting ready to go to sleep, as he was brushing his teeth, the first raindrops of the day hit the treetops above him. He sighed. There it was…

Raining buckets, lighting striking left and right, and the wind grew stronger than he had anticipated.

At the end of the day, he was sitting on the bed. He was hugging his legs and had a blanket wrapped around his body, but he still shivered like a lap dog on the street. He sat there, and he thought about late 2137, the coldest days he had ever experienced. Even though he hated being cold, he wanted to go back to that time. He wanted it because, no matter how cold it had been outside, no matter how much snow had been on the ground, he'd had the chance hide from that at _home_. In a room with four walls—a room with central heating—, where his mother would make him hot tea and give him a warm, loving embrace whenever he needed one. Alas, he did not have that anymore. He was stuck alone, sad and cold. Shivering.

His shelter provided a simple roof, but it was nothing compared to sturdy structures of actual houses. Houses like the ones Terra Novans had in their stupid, little colony. Oh, he thought about the colony then, and he thought about his father. He pictured the old man sitting in his home, all comfy on the couch with a cup of tea in his hands, looking out the window and _gloating_ at the idea of Lucas being miserable in the cold. He pictured that scene—and as he did, the anger that rose from his chest made him feel a little bit warmer.

When the rain thinned, he lay down and managed to fall asleep.

(_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_)

 **((September 30** **th** **, 2149))**

 _KRACHKchrkch!_

He was awoken by the sound (a dead man would have been awoken—the lightning must have struck close) and grumpily noted that the storm had picked up once again. He gripped the blanket tight and curled up into an even smaller ball than was usual when he slept. He would have preferred waking from a nightmare…

Which was exactly what happened in the morning (when had he fallen back asleep? he honestly didn't know). This time, it was a nightmare in which his father locked him up in an old, abandoned factory and threatened to keep him there for the rest of his life. (Wasn't too bad for a nightmare, actually. At least the factory had walls.)

The rain had stopped by then, a fact he was quite happy about. As he got up, he cleared his throat, then said out loud. "Good morning to me." He frowned; his voice sounded a little raspy. He drank some water and cleared his throat again. "How about now? Still rusty? How do I sound? Yeah, still rusty. I need to speak more. Did I speak _at all_ yesterday? I _need_ to speak. I have a voice; I need to use it." He also needed to relieve himself, though. He decided to take care of that first.

After doing so and after brushing his teeth, he let out a deep breath. "Okay, what now? Gotta look for something to _eat_. Get some _work_ done after that. The sky seems clear, not gonna rain anymore. That's good, that's _very_ good. Maybe I could _play_ later, too. I'm in a mood to _play_. And I gotta look at my nails. They're too long. Gotta shorten them. But first I gotta _eat_. Get me some energy to get through another day in this place. Yeah, that's what I'm gonna do today."

And that was exactly what he did.

(_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_)

 **((October 1** **st** **, 2149))**

Physiological needs (searching for food took him particularly long that day), working (he did that just for a little while—his struggle to find something to eat ruined his mood and he was not able to focus) and whittling. Also, at one point, an argument with a tree (an actual yelling‑and‑waving‑his‑arms‑like‑a‑madman kind of argument).

"Nothing," he muttered under his breath while foraging, "can't find anything. This is _his_ fault. _He's_ the one who sent me here. I bet he _knows_. He knows I'm looking right now. He knows I can't find anything. Bet that makes him _real_ happy. But I'm gonna find something. I _am_." He looked up at a random tree in front of him and said out loud, "Friend, do you have any idea where I could find some food?"

Silence.

"You know, when I said 'food,' I meant food for _humans_. Something _I_ could eat."

Silence.

"I can't eat _that_ , that's poisonous."

Silence.

"What do you mean, 'exactly'?!"

Silence.

"Wh-why would you say such a thing to me? What did I ever do to you?"

Silence.

"I am _not_!"

Silence.

"How would _you_ know? You've never even talked to me before."

Silence.

"That's not true! I was just… playing around. Like I'm doing now. Nothing wrong with that."

Silence.

"Well, _I_ happen to enjoy it."

Silence.

" _I_ care."

Silence.

"Wha— Don't you say that to me! Take that back! You take that back right now!"

Silence.

"You wanna bet?"

Silence.

"Am _not_!"

Silence.

"No, _you_ are!"

Silence.

"Oh, _o-kay_. Well, you know what? I hope someone _chops_ you down and turns you into a _campfire_."

Silence.

"Oh, maybe I will!"

Silence.

"You think I won't?"

Silence.

"Yeah, tell you what, I'll remember you, and soon as I get an axe, I'm coming here and I'm taking you _down_."

Silence.

"You wanna try me?"

Silence.

"Oh, _say_ that again. _Say_ that again to me, I _dare_ you."

Silence.

He gasped and raised his hands defensively. "Okay, _now_ you took it too far. _Waaay_ too far. Take that back!"

Silence.

"I said take it back!"

Silence.

"Take it back _now_!"

Silence.

"Oh, you won't huh?" he said calmly all of sudden, slowly walking closer to the tree. "Well, how about I do _this_ then?" With his left hand, he reached for a branch above his head, pulling it down. With his right hand, he grasped one of the leaves that grew on it. "Would you like me to rip this off?" he asked while the knuckles of his left hand turned white.

Silence.

"Well, then maybe I should do it."

Silence.

"Fine." And he ripped the little leaf off and tossed it away. He did not let go of the branch just yet, though. "How about now? Will you take it back? And keep in mind, Mr. Tree, you have _plenty_ more leaves for me to rip. I can do this _aaall_ day…"

Silence.

"Oh, don't be so stubborn!"

Silence.

"I know. That's what I hate about you trees. You're _all_ like this."

Silence.

"Come on, I'm not asking _that_ much of you. You could budge a _little_."

Silence.

"I just want you to apologize."

Silence.

"No, you have to _say_ it."

Silence.

"Say it, or I'll rip off another leaf!" he threatened, raising his voice again.

Silence.

He sighed. "Well, it's not as good as I hoped, but you're a tree. I suppose this is the best I'll get out of you, huh?"

Silence.

"Fine. But I'm only doing this 'cause I'm so generous, not because you deserve it." He let go of the branch, and it whipped up and nearly hit his face. He ignored that and said, "Now if you'll excuse me, I'll get back to looking for something to eat—something _not_ poisonous." He turned around and started walking away.

Silence.

He took a few steps, and then he yelled over his shoulder, "Yeah, okay! I still hope you'll get chopped down!" After that, he left, stomping out of there and fuming.

When he turned around and saw the tree was out of his sight, his scowl turned into a smile. He giggled and said to himself, "That was fun!"

(_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_)

 **((October 2** **nd** **, 2149))**

A sunny day. Calm and quiet. Just physiological needs, working and whittling. He finally completed his monkey that day. He whittled for quite a while, longer than the break from work was needed. He could tell it was practically done (the monkey, not the equation—that would, much to his sadness, require a lot more time), and he wanted to complete this job before returning focus to his real one. Once he was content with the monkey's shape, he put it down on the ground next to him. Then he went back to thinking about his calculations.

He picked up the monkey again at night, when he decided to go to bed. He stared at it, then frowned and pulled out his knife. Even though he had thought it was finished, a second look revealed a couple of imperfections he wanted to smooth out. The ears were a little large for his liking, and the arms seemed a bit asymmetrical.

Once he dealt with those imperfections, he took another close look at the product of his handiwork. It looked good, _very_ good, he thought. Not _the_ best monkey he had ever whittled out, but definitely one of the best. He smiled a satisfied smile, happy with the result.

Then he threw the monkey into the campfire, stood up and went to bed.

He really had no use for the product. At least this way it would contribute to keeping him warm.

(_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_)

 **((October 3** **rd** **, 2149))**

A bleak day. A bleak day indeed. The weather was not nice. Colder than the day before, and it kept raining on and off (not heavily, but still). Even worse than that, however, was the fact that he did not get to take care of his physiological needs. While hunger was nothing new to him, this day was one of those days when he ended up going to bed with no dinner at all. He'd had a meager breakfast and an equally meager lunch, but he just didn't manage to find anything edible after that. Nothing, not even a single grub.

As he lay in bed, trying to fall asleep, he thought about his father. It was, after all, the commander's fault that his stomach was empty. The commander had been the one who had banished him from the colony and deprived him of its plentiful food. In fact, there had been occasions (albeit not many of them) even before that event when he had gone to sleep hungry because of his father—occasions in his teenage years, when his father had punished him for perceived misdeeds by sending him to his room without dinner. As if that would make him repent his actions… All it ever did was make him even angrier than he had been before.

He hated living in the jungle. He _hated_ it. He hated being hungry and cold and scared and alone. But he did _not_ regret his attempts to make the portal go both ways. He did _not_ regret working against the colony. He did _not_ regret fighting his father. The only thing he regretted in that moment was not fighting harder when his father had found out.

And he was determined not to make the same mistake again.

(_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_)

 **((October 4** **th** **, 2149))**

It was a nice day, a _very_ nice day, actually (at least compared to most other days in the jungle). The weather had cleared, he managed to find enough food—but the _best_ part of the day was a little trip he took.

He decided to go to the Snakehead Falls. He was not entirely sure what day it was, but it must have been about two weeks since he had last carved equations on the rocks there. He wanted to know if his father had seen them yet. He had already checked once, a day before the tenth pilgrimage, but—much to his disappointment—the remains of a campfire he had left behind had been untouched. As he walked to that place, all he could think about was how much he hoped that would not be the case again.

When he arrived to the area, he headed straight to the spot where he had last carved his calculations. "Please, be lined up," he spoke to himself. "Please, be lined up. Please, be lined up. Please, be lined up. Yes!" And his wish came true. "Yes, yes, yes."

He grinned at the sight in front of him. Not the sight of his math (even though he considered that to be a most beautiful sight), but the sight of wood. Pieces of wood, ones he had left there two weeks earlier. He had left them there in the same formation in which he had set them up to light a campfire. They were no longer in that formation, however; instead, they were neatly lined up on the ground. Lined up, one next to another, with rocks on both sides that prevented them from rolling away. That was his father's way of saying 'I've been here. I've seen the equation. I acknowledge that you're still alive and still making progress in your work.' (And even though it was not explicit, he liked to imagine his father saying so in a very frustrated tone, one he could gloat over.)

There were no words spelled out from rocks, no letter on paper (the father had tried both before and learned it was pointless), but this sign of acknowledgement was enough for the young physicist. Because it meant his father _knew_. Knew that, one day, Lucas would fight him. That, one day, Lucas might actually beat him. And that was all the madman wanted.

Pieces of wood lined up. Such a simple sight, and yet the most beautiful one of them all.

"Yes."

Then he took the sight apart, putting the stones and wood away. That was his way of saying 'Message received. Now leave me alone (until I carve more calculations here, after which I'll need you to come back and give me another acknowledgement or I'll go crazy).'

He briefly considered carving some of the equations he had worked on over the week, but he decided not to. After all, it had only been about two weeks since the last time he had done so. More importantly, it had only been one week (or maybe less) since the last time his father had come there. Chances were the commander would not return for a while, and Lucas did _not_ like waiting. The longer he had to wait for a response, the more anxious he felt. He was not going to put himself through another three‑month disaster; he had never been closer to giving up than at the end of that nightmare (which, admittedly, had not been caused by carving too soon, but still). No, he would wait. Once he reached the conclusion (based on experience) that his father was bound to go to the Falls soon, he would carve more calculations then. And if he turned out to be right, he would only have to wait for a week or two. A week or two, that was fine in his book.

Before leaving, he took advantage of the plentiful water there to have a wash (a _thorough_ one again). After that, he walked back to his shelter.

Really, it had been a completely ordinary week.

* * *

Author's note

Hello again! I hope you liked this joint chapter for episodes 2 and 3 of the show. Sorry it took a while. I'm a slow writer, and other things kept getting in the way. A big thanks for the kind reviews and message I received; those always make my day. :)

Have you ever wondered what song would make a good theme for a show centered around Lucas Taylor? Well, wonder no more because I have the answer: Trixie Trotter's "Rage." :D Look it up on YouTube. It's actually a song from _Back to the Future: The Game_ , but it made me think of Lucas as soon as I heard it. It's perfect for him. Consider it this fan fiction's theme song. :D


	3. The Remains of the Dialog

_**What Remains**_ **: The Remains of the Dialog**

 **((October 9** **th** **, 2149))**

He had to work. He had to work. The sooner he finished his job, the sooner the ordeal would end. He would no longer have to live in the jungle, homeless, cold, hungry and alone. His pain would finally be over. All he had to do was finish his job. All he had to do was focus.

He gazed up at the sky. The sun was shining beautifully that day, but, for some reason, his head was cloudy. "Come on, focus, focus," he told himself out loud. He looked at the equation on his plex. "Okay. The square of Mₓ plus Y₃ and I'm so alone and _I hate everything_!" He raised his voice when saying the last three words; he was practically yelling. Was he _really_ yelling, though? They said if a tree fell in a forest and no one was around to hear it—there was no one around him, was there? No, of course not. He was alone. (Like always. As if he hadn't been alone long enough…) He was the only one who could hear himself yelling. Did it really count, then?

"Doesn't matter. Just focus," he said to himself again. "The square of Mₓ plus why am I alone? Why? Why? _Why_?" He let out a sob in spite of the fact that he was not crying. He did not even feel like crying. He _did_ feel like whining, though: "What did I do to deserve this? Why is it my fate to suffer? Haven't I been through enough pain already?"

Lucas sighed. Whining would have felt a lot more satisfying if someone had been there to hear it. After all, they said shared sorrow was half a sorrow. Oh, how he wished he had somebody to share it with! _'I need company,'_ he thought to himself, _'a conversation. I need to talk to someone. I need to speak. I need to listen to a human voice. I need to know that someone understands what I'm saying and that I can understand what they're saying back to me.'_

"I can always talk to myself," he said out loud. "No one else understands me, anyway."

He shook his head and frowned. _'But that's just monologing. I want to have a real conversation, a dialog.'_

"I can pretend it's a dialog."

 _'Not the same.'_

 _'It's the best I can do. Well, maybe not the_ best _, but_ definitely _the easiest.'_

 _'But I don't want that. I don't want to have to play both parts. I want to talk to someone who isn't me. I'm sick and tired of myself.'_

 _'Rude.'_

 _'I want to go see the Sixers.'_

"Nooo," he whined. "I don't wanna go there."

He rubbed his eyes, then sighed. "What other option do I have?"

 _'None. Apart from myself.'_

"Well, there I go. I got to go see them."

" _Unless_ none is better than the Sixers. Which, frankly, I'd say it is."

"Actually, no, it's, it's really not. None is the worst. I don't want to be alone all the time."

 _'Is it just me or do I sound spoiled when I say that?'_

 _'I wouldn't say wanting some company makes me spoiled…'_

 _'I'd say it does.'_

 _'I'd say it makes me_ human _. Who'd want to be alone_ all _the time?'_

 _'I don't have to_ want _it. But I've only been alone for, like, two months now. I've been through worse than that,_ way _worse, and I survived that. I shouldn't be bitching about it now.'_

 _'Language!'_

 _'Point is I need to start working and quit thinking about loneliness.'_

"Ugh, I _can't_ work!"

 _'Of course I can.'_

"Well, I don't _want_ to. I'm too lonely to work."

 _'I'm_ always _lonely.'_

"No, most times I'm just regular lonely. Now I'm _extremely_ lonely. Two months is a long time! May not be the longest I've been through, but it's _long_. I want to speak to another human being again. I want to see the Sixers."

 _'Come on…'_

"I want to see the Sixers!"

"Ugh, fine. I'll go see them. Maybe I'll be able to get some work done after that."

"But I don't want to see them."

"I _just_ said that I do."

 _'Well, I don't anymore.'_

 _'Fine, then I won't.'_

 _'But I want to!'_

"For crying out loud!" _'Then I'll go see them.'_

"But I don't like them."

 _'Then I won't go.'_

"But I'm so lonely…"

"Oh, for heaven's _sake_ , I'm going in a circle here. I don't have any other option. Either I stop feeling lonely by going to see the Sixers, or I don't see the Sixers but I remain lonely. No _._ Other. Option. I _can't_ have my cake and eat it, too."

 _'Not with_ that _attitude.'_

"Let's just think about it rationally for a moment. What will happen _if_ I go see the Sixers?"

"Hmm, I'll have to be in the presence of people I don't like. People who don't like me. People who think I'm crazy. Which is annoying, because I'm, like, fifty percent sure anyone who'd spend as much time alone as I do would act the same way. But they've never spent as much time alone, so they don't realize that. They just think I'm a lunatic, and that's that."

 _'Right, and I'm sure if they could see me now, they'd change their minds about it…'_

"That's insulting. 'S nothing wrong with a little play‑pretend."

 _'Not like I have lots of other options. I only have one other option, and it's a very annoying one.'_

"Exactly! If I go there, I'll have to listen to those _idiotic_ words that always come out of their mouths. 'Hey, Mira, how much ammo you got?' 'Why? Do you need any?' Come on now! Why else would I have brought it up? I may not be the best at talking to people, but even I know 'How much ammo you got?' would be a _stupid_ way to make small‑talk."

"Come to think of it, maybe I _am_ the best at talking to people. Maybe I'm so good, nobody else is on my level and _that's_ why they think I'm crazy."

"Huh, I _do_ like the sound of that. I'll believe it. For now."

 _'See, maybe I should go see the Sixers. Maybe they'll make me feel like I'm_ really _good.'_

 _'No, I'm sure they'd still get on my nerves.'_

 _'So I shouldn't see them? Let's think about that now. What will happen if I_ don't _see the Sixers?'_

"Well, obviously, I'll be lonely."

"Already am."

"But I'll stay that way _forever_."

"Wha— Forever? Not forever! I don't want to be lonely forever."

 _'Well, I will be if I don't go and see them.'_

 _'Let's be honest, chances are I'll be lonely even if I_ do _go see them. It's hard not to be when someone's making you feel like an alien. Like you're the only member of your species.'_

 _'But I'm_ not _the only member. I'm a_ human _. And they're humans, too. We're all people. And I want to see people. I_ need _to see people. If I don't,_ then _I'll feel like the only one.'_

"But they don't _get_ me! I want to see people who get me."

"Ha! Good luck with that…"

"Okay, that was just rude."

 _'See, maybe people would get me a little more if I were a little less_ me _.'_

"That's a rude thing to say. And uncalled for." _'If anyone should understand me, it's me. Why am I being mean to myself?'_

"'Cause it's fun. And 'cause I have no one else to fight with. Gotta work with what's available."

"I hate myself…"

"What else is new?"

 _'Guess I can't blame the Sixers for feeling the same way, huh?'_

"Watch me."

 _'Okay, I_ can _blame them, but I shouldn't refuse to see them just because of this.'_

 _'It's not_ just _because of this. It's because they're annoying and I don't like them and I don't want to see them ever again.'_

 _'That's not true.'_

 _'Isn't it, though?'_

 _'It's not, at all, because the truth is I want to see them_ right now _.'_

 _'Then why don't I go see them?'_

 _'Because I don't want to.'_

"But I just— Argh! I give up. This is impossible. I want two _completely_ opposite things that I _can't_ have at once. I want to stop feeling lonely, and I want to avoid feeling irritated. The first can only happen if I _go_ see the Sixers, and the second can only happen if I _don't_ see the Sixers. I'm stuck."

"Ugh, this in unbelievable. Why am I like this? I swear to god, I don't even know why I feel this way. Before they came, I went _two_ _years_ without saying a single word to another human being, and I was totally fine."

 _'No, I was not. I was really not. Not fine by a long shot.'_

"But now it's only been two _months_ since I've seen them, and I'm so lonesome I can't even work. How is that possible?"

 _'That's because I'm_ spoiled _. They spoiled me. Their mere presence spoiled me. It's terrible, really.'_

"I hate this. Why can't I just be alone? Why do I need company? Why do I need company even if I don't _like_ said company?"

 _'I don't know why, I don't know. But I_ do _know that I need them. I_ need _to go see them. Let me see them!'_

"But I don't want to…"

 _'I really don't. But I_ need _to. I_ really _need to do this.'_ "I _need_ to go. I _can't_ be alone anymore. I'm _sick_ of it. I need to see other people. I _need_ it."

"Ugh, fine. You win. …or _I_ win or… I don't know. Never mind that. I'll just go see them."

"Finally! Should've done it weeks ago…"

(_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_)

 _'Hmm, I don't know why, can't explain it, but the closer I am to the camp, the more I_ don't _want to go.'_

 _'I've already made a decision, I need to_ stick _by it.'_

 _'But I_ really _don't want to see them today. It doesn't feel right somehow.'_

 _'And being alone_ does _feel right?'_

 _'No, that doesn't feel right either.'_

 _'Well, if nothing feels right, I might as well stay on course.'_

 _'But the course doesn't feel right.'_

 _'Neither does straying from it.'_

 _'What if it's fate, though? Maybe fate is warning me against seeing the Sixers by making me not want to go there.'_

 _'Warning me? Why would that be the case? What so terrible could possibly happen because I'm going there?'_

 _'A dinosaur could kill me on the way.'_

 _'Not if I'm careful. And I'm_ always _careful.'_

 _'Yes, that's why I have a beautiful couple of scars behind my ear.'_

 _'That wasn't my fault! Nykos are fast. And they can climb trees. There was nothing I could've done.'_

 _'That's true, the nyko wasn't my fault. But the_ allosaur _was. That was a mistake of mine. And then I couldn't walk. And I was stuck at their camp for a_ month _. And it was_ horrible _. I really don't think I should be going there now.'_

 _'It wasn't_ that _bad.'_

 _'It was terrible! I was miserable the whole time.'_

 _'I was not miserable. I was an idiot who_ thought _he was miserable even though it was no big deal. They tried to be nice to me. Sure, they made a few missteps along the way—'_

 _'They threatened to kill me! That's a lot more than a misstep.'_

 _'It was just a_ joke _! A_ dumb _joke, but_ still _a joke.'_

 _'Well, I didn't know it at the time.'_

 _'But I know it now, and that's what matters. They'd never hurt me. Sure, they're not as welcoming as they think they are, and they always look at me like I'm an alien… Where was I going with this?'_

 _'You're playing the part that's arguing for seeing them, I'm arguing against it. Or is it the other way around? No, it's this way, I'm sure. It's confusing playing two parts.'_

 _'Yeah, yeah, right, I'm saying that they're trying to be nice to me. So, yeah. Sure, they're not doing the_ best _job, but they're_ trying _. I got to give them credit for that, don't I?'_

 _'I don't, actually.'_

 _'But I will. And that's why I need to keep going. I've been alone for too long.'_

 _'It's only been two months.'_

 _'That's a long time.'_

 _'No, it's not, I'm just whining.'_

 _'Hey, the longer I'm alone, the more of an alien I'll be. Got to keep that in mind. If I go see them now, it'll be a lot easier than it would be a few months from now.'_

 _'Fine, I'll stay on course. I don't_ want _to, and it_ still _doesn't feel right, but I'll do it. I'll just ignore fate's warning and keep walking because I am_ done _arguing with myself about this. Done!'_

(_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_)

 _'This is strange. This is very strange. Where is everybody? Where is…_ everything _? Wasn't there furniture in this room?'_

 _'There was.'_

 _'And where is it now?'_

"Hello?"

 _'No one's answering.'_

"Mira?"

 _'Looks like no one's here.'_

 _'Worse, looks like Mira's moved away again.'_

 _'That can't be! She would've told me if they were moving, and she didn't say anything. Wait… Am I at the right camp?'_

 _'Yeah, I got to be. The furniture's missing, but I'm 99.99% sure this is the place I went to last time.'_

 _'What happened, then? Where are they?'_

 _'They must have moved since then.'_

 _'But she didn't even call me and tell me about it.'_

 _'Maybe she forgot.'_

 _'Oh, no! What if she did it on purpose?'_

 _'Or what if I'm being paranoid?'_

 _'No, that's got to be it. She did it on purpose. Because she didn't want me coming over anymore. Because she doesn't like me. That's so rude! I can't believe she'd up and leave me like this without sayin—'_

"Oh! Oh! No! No, she did, she called me! I can't—" _'A couple days later, after I saw her, she called. She called me. She said they were moving.'_ "I remember now. Ugh, I can't believe I forgot about that!"

 _'Huh… Well, see? It really was fate warning me against coming here. Because fate knew I was wasting my time going to the wrong place.'_

 _'That's a good point. I got to listen to fate from now on.'_

 _'So what should I do now?'_

 _'Go back to my shelter.'_

 _'Shouldn't I go to their new camp now that I remember?'_

 _'No, 'cause if I remember correctly, that place is the_ other _way from my shelter. If that's not fate's sign that I shouldn't be bothered, I don't know what is.'_

 _'But if I don't see them, I'll be lonely.'_

 _'Have I not just_ now _learned a lesson about listening to fate?'_

 _'Just saying.'_

 _'I was lonely before, I handled it, why couldn't I do it now? Of course I can do it. I'm going back. At least for today. I can see the Sixers next time.'_

 _'But when will that be?'_

 _'I don't know. When fate makes me feel like the time's right. Could be tomorrow, could be two years from now, who knows?'_

 _'Well, fate better make it closer to tomorrow, 'cause I am_ not _spending two years alone again. Never again, no matter what.'_

* * *

Author's note

Hello again! Long time no see. Don't be alarmed by the seemingly different author. I changed my username and profile avatar, but (unfortunately) I am still the same person.

I hope you enjoyed reading this. I figured that, just for fun, I could have one chapter which would be (apart from the intro) pure dialog. Or should I say pure monolog? I'm not sure what to call it. :D Next time, Lucas will actually visit the Sixers, so if you want to see him interact with Mira and her bunch, come back when I post chapter #4. Until then, peace!


End file.
